I Gotcha, Brother
by Aya Salim
Summary: Missing scene from 8x21 - The Great Escapist. How did Dean react when Sam called him but he never had the chance to say anything? This is what happened when Dean got back to their motel room and how he tried to force Sam's fever down, well, my version anyway :) One-Shot. SPOILER!


**A/N: **Hey, there! :D As you noticed, this is the missing scene of the latest episode "The Great Escapist -8x21". A special friend of mine was trying to find a fan fiction filling that missing scene but we didn't find any, so I did it again and wrote my own version. She was way too supportive and encouraged me to do it :) Thank you so much, Roka. This is for you, and the rest of our awesome gang ;)

- Again, I haven't used any beta for this one, and I practically wrote it over a night. I needed to get it out of my system before the new episode, so I apologize for any mistakes :)

**- If there's anybody who would like to be my beta, please drop me a line. *Sammy's puppy eyes***

- **I own nothing but my imagination. **

**- SPOILER: 8x21 - The Great Escapist.**

Enjoy :)

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**I Gotcha, Brother**

Closing the museum door behind him, Dean let out a heavy sigh narrowing his eyes against the rays of the mid-afternoon sun. He paused in front of the museum entrance working his mind through what the other man in there had told him. Native American or whatever, he still looked like an _Indian_ to him. Sam could just bite him.

_Sam_…

It was hard these days to think about his little brother without thinking about the whole crap of the trails' effect on him as well. He had always been able to separate between what was happening and what was needed to be done, as long as he was heading into the right direction with Sam by his side everything was fine, anything else would be fixable.

But not this time. It wasn't a freaky regular monster they were going after and they would patch each other up and then it would be fine. It wasn't an absent father who they were searching for and they would end up fighting one another with anger blaring sky-high then they would come down to sticking together because they were all they got left. _God_, he had missed the old days. Hell, he even missed the days when they were stuck in the middle of the angels' insanity-for-a-war, fighting to keep each other human, the leviathans and the whole load of crap they have gone through.

He missed everything but _this_. Seeing his kid brother going through all this was just more than he could handle. And Jesus, he was fucking _tired_. He was tired of watching his brother's rough guise and staggering body losing strength day by day, second by second. He was tired of handling each coughing fit while relearning with his brother how to draw a breath into their tight chests, the countless blood stains he had to deal with on Sam's clothes, towels, sheets, handkerchiefs and everything that came handy to use. He was tired of it all.

Dean wouldn't miss a chance to touch his brother in _obvious_ attempts to check on his body temperature, but The Winchesters weren't all that touchy and he could tell that Sam always knew what he was trying to do, and he would play along sometimes, whether because he was just too tired to argue or for Dean's sake.

Sam hadn't been eating well enough, either. Lately, he would take a bite or two because Dean pushed him into it then choke on the few water sips, ending up coughing up his lungs and splashing them both with fresh, dark blood. Until he stopped trying to get anything into his system beside some water every now and then, turning down each of his big brother's meals or medication, and surrendering to the effect of the second trail and whatever the hell it was doing to him, declaring honestly that he was not good. As if Dean needed the extra confirmation.

Dean has never felt that much helpless in his life.

He wasn't able to do anything but watch and help his brother through the pain in every way he knew, soothing and comforting him with encouraging words and non-sense, which seemed to fall onto two pairs of deaf ears these days; his and Sam's.

Shoulders sagging in defeat, Dean did his best not to burst into a fit of rage, or worse…crying. Tightening his jaw; he sucked in a breath before he let it out and try as he might it came out in a low chocked sob. He closed his eyes briefly, cursing mentally at the sting of the tears behind his eyelids in frustration, before he shook himself visibly and started to walk towards the Impala.

Once inside the safety of his beloved car, Dean selfishly allowed himself a second of relief, relishing the feeling of being in the closest place he could ever have to home. Although they had the Men Of Letters' as a _permanent_ place to settle down now, his baby still had the biggest part of his heart. He stretched a hand under the back seat of the Impala, digging up a bottle of scotch he had thrown there a few days ago, and decided that he could use a swig… or twenty.

"Good times," Dean sighed, taking a long swig and closed his eyes tightly against the intensity of the liquor, letting it burn its way down from the tip of his tongue, and down his throat until it rested into the bottom of his belly. He stared at the booze bottle as if it held all the answers he needed before he noticed that the hand that was holding the bottle up was slightly shaking. The young man cursed at his weakness, scolding himself to pull it together. He knew he was close to his own breaking point, but he couldn't let that happen, not now at least. Not before he was sure that his brother was fine again.

He pulled the bottle's long nick to his lips one more time, drinking as much as he dared before screwing the bottle's cap shut then tapped his pockets for the car keys. He needed to get back to Sam, God only knew how the kid was holding up right now and he wasn't ready to let him get out of his sight any longer.

Just as he was about to start the engine, his cellphone rang startling him a little and disturbing the utter silence inside the car. The caller ID flashed "Sam" and both warmness and worry took hold of him. As much as he wanted the kid to get some rest, he was disappointed that Sam didn't fight him and just threw himself back onto the bed falling into a restless sleep right away; it felt like the fight was literally leaving his brother. Dean fought the urge to wake him up then, to ask him if he was okay, to check on him, to just hear his voice, it didn't matter that it was rough and hoarse, because it meant that Sam was still there, and right now that was all he cared about.

A small smile crept to Dean's lips before he pushed the answer button and put the phone to his right ear.

"Sam?" He said into the phone, almost excitedly. But nothing came back.

"Sam?!" Concern laced Dean's tone this time and a bad feeling started to take over him. He took the phone off of his ears and looked at the screen, his brother hadn't hung up.

"Hey, Sam? Are you there, man?" He started to freak out, feeling like a grip of iron tightening around his heart. "Sam, answer me!" Dean yelled into the phone, clumsy fingers turning around the keys and starting the car before it took off from its parking space wildly, four wheels squeaking in protest.

"Come on!" Dean pushed the gas paddle to the floor, driving as fast as he dared, tightening his grip on the phone on his ears. "Dammit, Sammy!" He growled, throwing the phone on his lap and focused on driving after he missed a very possible chance to kiss a tree as the Impala turned sideways and out of his control for a second. He would do his brother no good if he was dead.

Still, he wouldn't stop shouting and yelling over and over for his brother to answer the damn phone, panic climbing to a higher notch inside of him each time he called for his brother and got nothing in return. He didn't know what to expect.

Five agonizing minutes later, the impala came to a halt jerking Dean forward violently. His head hit the steering wheel but his left hand still scrambled for the door handle. Wrenching the door open with a loud squeak, Dean slipped out of the car frantically and slammed the door shut behind him, already running into the room's direction, to his brother.

Cocking his gun just in case, he opened the room's door quickly but carefully, stopping short when something bulked the door from the other side. Dean's eyes fell instantly on the limp of his little brother lying across the floor on his side, his back to the door.

Shocked, Dean almost froze –almost. He rushed into the room, moving around his brother's long frame and fell hard to his knees in front of him with a loud thud. His hands reached for his brother, Dean winced at the heat radiating from Sam's body and cursed under his breath. The kid was on fire!

He found Sam's cellphone beside his head and tossed it away. Gently rolling his six feet brother to his back, the hunter's experienced eyes roamed along his body, searching for any other possible damage. He took mental notes of Sam's ghostly pale face, his fever-flushed cheeks, his rimmed red eyelids and his _dry_ messy hair. He wasn't sweating, and that was _bad_.

Dean's hands hovered over Sam's face, arms and shoulders and for a second he didn't know what to do. They had dealt with fevers countless times; he knew what he needed to do to bring them down, but it was like he had forgotten all the training and practicing he had had through his whole life at that instant. It was like he couldn't get his mind to think, or his hands to move.

He was the one who should have been lying here, fighting for his life, burning up with the brain-toasting fever and bearing up all this torture, not his brother. Not Sammy.

Sam's body jerked violently all of the sudden, snapping Dean out of his daze. Each muscle of Sam's body jumped into a direction of its own, head hitting the hard floor a few times and every part of him was convulsing.

He was having a seizure. Dean realized in horror, sprinting into action and wiping angrily at the tear that slipped down his cheek against his will. He held Sam's head into his balm, reaching for the closest bed and fetched a pillow which was slipped under his brother's head one second later. The big brother rolled his younger brother to his side then held his hands in a tight but gentle grip and tried as much as he could to stop him from hurting himself any farther.

Dean held tight onto Sam, holding him close, not sure which one of them needed the connection at that moment. He waited out for the seizure to end, counting in his mind how long it lasted, his right hand taking turns from holding Sam, squeezing his neck to smoothing the lines of the raw pain on his forehead all the while whispering encouraging and soothing words softly, before Sam finally settled, his body sagging towards his brother's chest.

Five minutes. It lasted for frigging five minutes. Dean let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and held Sam against his chest in an awkward quick hug. He let go of his brother only to get the thermometer in one long stride and thrust it into the kid's merely open mouth. He checked his pulse and found it racing under his fingers. When he pulled the thermometer back from Sam's mouth, the little digital screen flashed "107".

"Crap!" Dean cursed, throwing the thermometer in the air, angry at himself for letting his mind dwell into his pathetic thoughts and self-loathing, and giving the situation the chance to get even worse. He ran to the bathroom opening the taps of the water and let it fill the bathtub while he collected every single piece of ice he could find in the refrigerator –thanking whoever listened for being in a motel with such a luxury– and threw them into the bathtub to float on the water's surface on several trips from the refrigerator to the bathroom, all the time keeping a close eye on Sam's chest, making sure it was rising and falling.

Blinking the water drops and sweat out of his eyes – what he decided they were anyway, Dean got down on one knee, trying to figure out how he was going to carry –or drag– Sam to the bathroom and put him into the bathtub. Considering that his younger brother oversized him, it had never been easy to carry or drag the Sasquatch around. Not that this had ever stopped him, though.

He tried in vain for the umpteenth time to raise his brother from his syncope but Sam was dead to the world. Taking a deep breath, Dean bent down, his forehead almost touching Sam's, and gently placed his brother's right arm around his own shoulder and held it in place, hooking his other hand onto Sam's jeans belt from behind and hauled him up in one smooth motion. He swayed for a moment under Sam's dead weight that almost dragged them both down to the floor. Dean waited until he was able to steady himself, trying to adjust his hold on his brother, whose head fell limply and pumped Dean's head softly.

"Come on, man!" Dean whispered in desperation, the weight threatening to bring him down to his knees, but it wasn't the weight of his brother. As a matter of fact, Sam had lost so much weight and he was lighter than the last time Dean had to carry him around, he was able to feel Sam's bones through his clothes and could count his ribs if he wanted to. It was the weight of the responsibility he was failing to shoulder, the hopelessness, and the terrorizing idea of losing Sam, but he didn't allow himself to think too much about it, he couldn't afford that now. He would deal with that later, now wasn't the time for any of this. He was going to take care of him, carry him and die for him every time he would have to.

"Okay, okay," Inhaling deeply, Dean tried to calm himself down and push the panic away, pretending that neither of them was shaking so he would be able to take care of Sam. He started to move, pulling his brother's freakish-tall body along with him, it was going to be a slow long trip to the bathroom but at least he was moving.

"Don't hesitate to wake up anytime, dude!" He said nervously to his unconscious brother, voice trembling as he took one more step. "Your big brother needs a little help here, Sammy." Dean's voice broke onto his brother's name. He bit down on his lips and pushed himself to move, move, and move.

It was when they finally made it to the bathroom entrance that Sam started to mumble words Dean couldn't recognize any of which. He took one more step and buffed out a strangled breath, easing Sam down on the edge of the bathtub, who tipped forwarded till his forehead came to rest on his brother's chest. Dean kept his strong hold on Sam, putting his own hand into the cold water before he started to wet his brother's flushed face.

Sam whimpered brokenly, his fevered body reacting to the cold water, trying weakly to pull away from it. Dean mumbled apologizes in return, cupping his brother's neck, hoping it would reassure the kid and let him know that he was here, that he was going to take care of him.

"Sam?" He tried again, wiping Sam's face with the water, praying that Sam would come around just for a second, just for one freaking second to get into the freaking bathtub because he wouldn't just push him into this frigging chilly water.

"D'n…?" It was so low, coming out from Sam's mouth by instinct; Dean wouldn't have been able to catch it if his face hadn't been so close to Sam's.

"Sam? Hey, hey, man!" Dean's eyes widened in a momentary relief, pushing Sam's tangled hair off of his face and tapped his face gently. "Sammy, are you with me?" It was only a low sluggish whimper of his name that came back in return but he was going to accept it, he still had him… _I still have him_, he repeated in his mind.

"It's okay, it's gonna be okay," Dean wiped Sam's face frantically, pulling him up once again and took hold of him before he goes down. "Just help me getting you into the water then you can sleep as much as you want, man." He knew that he was rambling, but he couldn't help it.

The young man pulled at his brother's knees, trying to get him to lift his legs and get inside the bathtub, Sam barely functioned, but he was still able to follow his brother's silent request and helped him to move his body. It was a weak help –very, but it was everything Dean needed right now, and he couldn't wrap his mind around how the kid was able to even feel his presence in such a state, let alone actually listening to what he was saying and doing it.

"That's it, Sammy, that's it," He encouraged softly, finally able to raise Sam's right leg without knocking him down, crossing the tub's edge and sinking into the water. A weak gasp came from his right as Sam's arm that was around Dean's shoulder came to life, fist clinching around the materials of Dean's shirt and his skin. Dean would have cried out of joy that his brother was finally responding to anything if he wasn't too busy trying to pull Sam's other leg into the water as well.

"Shh, it's okay, little brother. I gotcha," Finally, both legs inside, Dean held Sam with his strong arms before the kid could fall and crack his head against the porcelain of the tub, and started to lower him slowly into the water. "I gotcha, Sam,"

Sam's weakened body no longer had the energy to resist and surrendered to the chilling water, shuddering and shivering uncontrollably. Dean bent over the tub's edge, still holding Sam's upper body out of the water and promised him that he would take care of him, carry him, watch out for him and walk him through his misery until they were done with the trials, until Sam was one hundred percent again, until his kid brother would be able to have a life. As if to punctuate his promise, Dean pressed his lips to his brother's temple, swearing to himself that he would be dead first before he let Sam know about what he just did. He then lowered Sam into the tub, allowing his body to be completely covered under the water.

"I gotcha, brother,"

_**The End**_

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So? How was that? I hope it satisfied your desire, guys :D Really hope you liked it, and sorry again for any mistakes. And I'm all ready to hear any tips from you :) Don't forget to review, they keep me going. *Hugs*

Aya


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